Mrs Caffrey
by madeleine G
Summary: A woman from Neal's past returns with disturbing consequences.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This takes place before the Point Blank mid-summer season finale.

Mrs. Caffrey – Chapter 1

It had been a pretty dull Monday so far. Peter was stuck in budget meetings all morning, which left Neal, unfortunately for him, in Diana's care. So far she had put him to work catching up on all the paperwork he had been avoiding for months. "But I'm not an agent—I'm a consultant. I consult. I don't report."

"Right now, you report. To me. Hughes wants a full write up from everyone involved in any field operation. That includes you. Now type."

Neal took a step nearer to her, invading her personal space. His eyes sparkled and his smile turned sultry as he leaned in towards her.

Diana burst out laughing.

Neal retreated, his smile gone. "You know, it's an unfair advantage you have not being susceptible to my masculine charms."

"Deal with it. If you just sat down and did the work, you'd spend less time than you do trying to worm your way out of it."

Neal flashed her a grin. "It's all part of the dance. It's my mission in life to charm my way out of boring and mundane work."

Diana just folded her arms and tapped one foot impatiently.

Neal held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, I'm going." Not seeing any apparent escape avenues, he resigned himself to the paperwork and sat down at his computer.

Finally, close to noon, Peter was released from the meeting. He went to Neal's desk and smiled seeing that the ex-con was deep in concentration typing a report. "Hey, I don't want to interrupt, but I need some lunch. Interested?"

"Oh thank God, Peter. This is the fourth DP-5 form I've done today. Diana is not a nice woman."

"Don't complain. When I started, we were using typewriters and carbon paper.

"And stone knives?"

"Well, if you're sure you don't want lunch, I'll let Diana know that you have some time on your hands."

"Sorry, Peter. I would dearly love to go to lunch with you. Your conversation and your wallet would be most enjoyable."

"Flatterer."

The two left in harmony and grabbed an all-too-quick lunch before having to return to budgets and DP-5 forms. They walked back into the office, Neal in front of Peter. When they reached Neal's desk, he abruptly froze. Peter nearly ran into him. "Hey, what are you doing?"

Neal was immobile, staring wide-eyed at an elegant black glass vase on his desk. It held a single white orchid with long, slender petals curled like legs.

Peter looked at the flower and found nothing significant in it other than the faint distaste he felt for its insect-like appearance. He noted that there was no card attached. Then he looked at Neal's face. Neal had paled to the point where even his lips looked ashen. "Neal, what's wrong? What is it?'

Neal turned his head to look at Peter as if he had just noticed him standing there. "It can't be. She's dead. I killed her."

The words struck cold fear in Peter, and an image of Neal handling a gun with practiced ease rose in his mind. Peter had never found out the cause for Neal's avowed dislike of firearms. What if the reason was that Neal had actually killed someone?

Neal's hand trembled as he reached for the flower, but he couldn't bring himself to touch it. Peter took Neal by the arm and forcibly hustled him up the stairs to his office. Closing the door, he pushed Neal into a chair.

"Neal." No response. Peter put his hands on Neal's shoulders and shook him slightly. "Neal, look at me!"

Neal slowly raised his head and glanced around seemingly confused as to how he had gotten to Peter's office. He turned to look at Peter.

"Neal, did you just confess to murder?" Peter held his breath, waiting for the response.

"What? Peter, no. But I was stupid, and I was responsible for her death."

Profound relief that he didn't have to arrest his partner silenced Peter for a moment. Then curiosity and impatience took over as he demanded, "So who are you talking about, and what the hell happened? C'mon, Neal, you can't just drop a bomb like that and then clam up. You have to trust me."

Some of the color had returned to Neal's face. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and stared out the window.

Peter watched as the internal debate Neal was having was reflected on his face. How much to reveal to his FBI handler-if anything. How much to keep hidden. What were the risks? The benefits? The options? Usually, this analysis took place in a flash in that lightning brain of his. This time it was a slow, grinding process. Peter sat down behind his desk and waited, giving Neal the time to reach the inevitable conclusion that he had to confide in Peter.

A long sigh signaled that Neal had capitulated and was ready to talk.

"It was ten years ago. I was twenty-two, young and stupid, on a high from my first successful heists. I was vacationing in Greece when I met her. Her name was Rachel. She had a dozen last names—I never knew if any of them were real. But it didn't matter to me. I was captivated the first night I met her. She was beautiful and fearless, always keeping her eye on the prize, doing whatever was needed to win. And with her, the prize was almost always jewels. She was fascinated by them. I followed her like a lovesick puppy, almost speechless with adoration."

Peter smiled at the idea of the normally suave conman flustered and stumbling after a girl. "So what was the job she recruited you for?"

Annoyed at Peter's insight, Neal asked, "Do you want me to tell you the story?"

"Fair enough. Go on."

"Well, you're right—she did want my help with a con. I would have helped her steal the crown jewels of England if she had wanted me to. She was planning a diamond heist.

"Neal, should you be telling me this?"

"Whatever my intentions were, I didn't actually commit the crime, Peter. There's nothing you should arrest me for."

"Good. So who was the mark?"

"She was targeting Rudolf Janik."

"Janik? The biggest illegal arms dealer in twelve countries? Were you crazy?"

"Maybe. He's also the biggest diamond collector in twelve countries. Rachel wanted them. One in particular. The Cathcart diamond. She…"

Peter interrupted. "The Cathcart? That disappeared decades ago. All 153 carats of it set in platinum. That would be quite a catch."

"Rachel had wanted it her whole life. She was convinced that Janik had it. So she studied him for years, what he liked, what he wanted, what his weaknesses were. She made herself over into exactly what he looked for in a woman and conned her way to his attention. It worked. He was hooked. Just one problem, though. Janik is a womanizer with an odd rule. He sees only married women, the more recently married the better. He gets off on taking the new bride from her husband. It also protects him from any matrimonial ambitions a single woman might have."

"So she wanted you to be the new groom?"

"Yes. She believed he kept the diamonds on his yacht he had anchored off the Greek islands. She got Janik to agree to have the wedding on his yacht as a gift to her. She planned to use it as cover for stealing the diamonds. She got a friend to impersonate a minister, ordered flowers, music, the whole thing. The wedding went off as planned. But she had done too good a job at hooking him. Janik couldn't tear himself away from Rachel. He truly was obsessed with her."

Neal's narrative faltered as he closed his eyes remembering what happened next. Peter waited quietly until Neal recovered and continued

"We were supposed to return to port that night, but Janik had other plans. He headed the boat out to sea. He wouldn't leave Rachel alone. He took her to his private rooms. It was all part of Rachel's plan, but I was afraid for her, so I followed them. I shouldn't have interfered. But I couldn't bear to see him caressing her and looking at her with that predatory gaze. He had decided that he wanted to possess her before she slept with her husband. I confronted him. I felt I had to protect her, even from herself. Rachel tried to calm things down, but Janik was enraged."

"He had one of his men lock me in our cabin, and he dragged Rachel up on deck. I picked the lock and hit the guard on the head with a statue. I went after them. I was in time to see her struggling with him at the bow. She slapped him, and he went berserk, shaking her and pushing her to the railing. The guard caught up with me before I could get to her. He grabbed me and threw me against the bulkhead. I was knocked out, but before I lost consciousness completely, I heard her scream. Then I heard a splash."

Neal closed his eyes. In his mind he could hear those sounds being replayed over and over. He could smell the ocean air, feel the motion of the ship through the waves.

Peter realized that Neal was lost in his memories, so he prompted him to continue. "How did you get away?"

Neal raised his eyes to focus on Peter, grateful for the distraction. "I didn't get away. He let me go. When I woke up, the yacht was anchored just off shore. I was brought to Janik. He held a knife to my throat and made a long shallow cut." Neal absently fingered the almost invisible scar. "I could feel the blood dripping down my chest. I was sure he was going to kill me. But then he told me to get out of his sight. He warned me that if I went to the police, I would be charged with her murder. He owned the local police, from the chief on down. He was too powerful for me to fight. So I did as I was told. I left Greece and never went back."

Neal put his head in his hands and let out a long shuddering sigh.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Peter was silent for a few minutes, watching his partner and wishing that he could fix this. Just when Neal was regaining his equilibrium after Kate's death, this ripping opening of old wounds was knocking him flat. Powerless to provide any real comfort, Peter could at least offer the FBI resources to investigate. "So what was significant about the flower?"

"It's a spider orchid. It was Rachel's favorite. I used to buy her one every day. It became something of a trademark for her."

"So who else knew about that particular flower? Who could have sent it to you?"

"I don't know, Peter. Anyone who saw her around that time could know—she usually wore them in her hair. But it was over ten years ago."

"It's possible it could just be a coincidence. Some admirer just randomly choosing that particular flower to give to you." Even as he said it, Peter realized how unlikely that was. This had been done intentionally.

"No. It had to be deliberate. Buy why? I can't understand why." Neal voice was wavering.

"Okay, let's assume it was sent on purpose. If the flower's rare, we should be able to track down where it came from. Let's find the box it came in—maybe we'll get lucky with a return address. Pull the footage from the lobby cameras and see who delivered it. Look, I need to be back in the budget meetings, but I'll have Diana help you."

Peter stood and walked over to Neal. He put his hand on the younger man's shoulder. When Neal raised his head, the haunted look in his eyes twisted Peter's gut. "Neal, we'll figure this out. I promise. Look, I'm going to be tied up all afternoon. After you check into this flower delivery, take the rest of the day. I'll pick you up tomorrow morning."

"Okay. Peter? Thank you." Neal said quietly.

Peter acknowledged with a nod and a small smile as he left the office. He stopped at Diana's desk and requested that she help Neal. Then he went on to his meeting.

Neal and Diana spent the next two hours checking the security video footage, interviewing employees who had been there around the delivery time, and calling florists to find one who had sold that type of orchid that day. Dead ends all around. Whoever had sent the flower to Neal had done a fabulous job of covering their tracks.

Neal decided to accept Peter's offer to leave early. But instead of going home, he wandered through the park. He sat unseeing on a bench until the gold of sunset darkened into turquoise. He finally roused himself and went home. Exhausted, he dragged himself up the stairs and entered his apartment. Flicking the lights on, he was surprised to find that the door to the terrace was open. He walked over and looked outside. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw her. Seated at the wrought iron table was a woman, her face in shadow.

"Hello, Neal. It's been a while."

Neal froze. Older, yes, but still her voice. Rachel's sensuous, spellbinding voice. Neal's stomach twisted into knots. His breath came out in a shudder. He fought to control the torrent of emotions rushing through him. "It's been a while? That's what you have to say? It's taken ten years for you to tell me that you're alive, that I wasn't responsible for your murder? Where the hell have you been? And what happened back on that yacht?"

Picking up her wine glass, she stood and walked past Neal back into his apartment. He followed her, almost against his will. She retrieved the open bottle of wine and poured a second glass. She offered it to Neal. He put his hands behind his back. Rachel shrugged and placed the glass on the coffee table. Motioning Neal to join her, she gracefully settled herself on the couch.

Neal realized that he had no choice but to play her game if he was to get any information, so he sat down. He studied her face in the soft lamplight. She was still so beautiful. Her jet black hair and coral lips. And those eyes—almond shaped and glowing dark sapphire blue. God, he had been so enthralled by her. Even now he could feel the pull of desire. Clamping down his rioting emotions with iron control, he forced himself to calmly inquire, "What happened ten years ago? Why did you disappear?"

Rachel sighed. Was that a flash of regret he saw on her face? Or was it all part of the delicate web she spun so well in her cons? Impossible to tell.

"The plan changed, Neal. Janik was obsessed with me. He told me he would have you killed if I didn't agree to go with him. I knew if you thought I was dead, you would move on and not look for me."

Had she really done it to protect him? Maybe his judgment had been too harsh. "He held you captive?" Neal asked slowly.

"No. I was there willingly enough. It was the diamonds that held me captive. And the money. A thousand times more than we thought there was." Rachel's dark blue eyes were sparkling like the gems she so coveted. "And the Cathcart diamond. 153 carats of glorious, flawless canary diamond." Her face took on a dreamy look. "I never got him to show it to me, though. But I know he has it."

"And you let me think I was responsible for getting you killed? For ten damned years, Rachel. In ten years you couldn't contact me?"

"It was nothing personal, Neal. I thought it was safer for both of us."

"Well, it was personal for me." He took a few deep breaths, trying to maintain control. He gestured to the luggage piled on his bed. "What are you doing here, Rachel?"

Rachel moved Neal's wine glass closer to him. She looked up at him through her eyelashes. "I need your help, Neal."

"I work for the FBI now. Whatever con you're planning, I can't be any part of it. You're wasting your time here, Rachel."

"I don't agree. Besides, I need a place to stay."

"This is New York City. There are hundreds of hotels."

Rachel smiled and tilted her head. "Now why would I stay in a hotel when my husband has such a lovely apartment?"

Neal scoffed. "Husband? That con ended a decade ago."

She retrieved her purse from the counter and pulled out a document envelope. Sitting back down next to Neal, she continued. "Which brings us to the second thing I need your help with, Neal. A divorce."

Neal stared at her face trying to read through the con and fearing that there wasn't one. "The ceremony on the yacht. It wasn't fake?"

"Sorry, Neal. It was legitimate. I am your wife." Rachel smiled sweetly and handed Neal the document.

He lifted the wine glass to his lips and drained it.

Neal was already reeling from the knowledge that Rachel was alive and sitting in his apartment. That he was legally married to her left him numb with shock. His eyes worked to focus on the document in his hand. It was a certified copy of the marriage certificate, complete with raised seal. There it was, his signature, Rachel's and the minister's. He couldn't sit still anymore. He couldn't breathe. Without a further word to his "wife," Neal ran out of his apartment. Once on the street, he waited until he caught his breath and dialed Mozzie's number on his cell phone. When his friend answered he said, "Moz, meet me at the coffee shop now. I need your help."

Hearing the strain in Neal's voice, Mozzie asked no questions. He just replied, "See you in twenty." The call disconnected.

Not much more than twenty minutes later, Neal and Mozzie were seated at a table in the coffee shop. Mozzie was examining the marriage certificate Neal had handed to him. "Hmmm... Looks authentic."

"Moz, the document isn't a forgery. The minister was supposed to be. Can you check him out for me?"

"Can do. I'll check his credentials and find out if the paperwork was ever officially filed. Not that you're not a great catch, but why would she want to be legally married to you?"

"I don't know, Moz. Maybe so I couldn't testify against her? Maybe it was for Janik's benefit to satisfy his requirement that his lovers all be married. Hell, for all I know, it could be part of a plan she made ten years ago knowing she'd need an excuse to stay here with me today." In frustration, Neal's fingers curled into fists.

"So what's your next move?" Mozzie watched as the lines of stress deepened on his friend face.

Neal blew out his breath in a harsh laugh. "What can I do? I'm neatly trapped. I know she's here for more than a divorce. She wants something."

"Agreed. She could have handled the divorce thing by mail."

"I'm just going to have to wait it out until she gives me something more to work with. But that's Rachel. Her cons are sublime. And twelve layers deep. She's way better than you or me."

Mozzie shook his head. "Be careful, my friend. I have a bad feeling about this. I'll let you know when I find anything."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

After Mozzie left to start his investigation, Neal sat there nursing his coffee and delaying his return home as long as he could. The coffee shop was closing though, and he finally had to leave.

He quietly entered his apartment, vainly hoping Rachel might have taken off again. But her luggage was still there, suitcases now open and empty. Apparently she had been busy while he was out. She had left a small light on for him, and he was able to locate her. She lay sleeping peacefully in his bed, her long, dark hair spread out on the pillow. A frown appeared on Neal's face as he noticed she was wearing his pajama tops. The bottoms lay across the back of the couch where she had also kindly thrown a pillow and a blanket. Yielding to the inevitable, Neal got ready for bed and settled himself uncomfortably on the couch.

The next thing he knew, it was morning, and June was knocking on his door to tell him Peter was outside waiting for him. He opened the door a crack and asked her to tell Peter he'd be right down. In his haste, he failed to close the door completely. He grabbed clothes from his closet and headed for the bathroom.

In the meantime, however, Peter had gotten tired of waiting and came up to Neal's apartment to hurry him along. He knocked, but since the door was ajar, he went in. "Neal! We're late. Get moving." He looked around until his eyes lit on the bed and the dark-haired woman watching him. Suddenly embarrassed, Peter sputtered, "Oh. Sorry. I didn't know Neal had company. Tell him I'll wait downstairs."

Rachel threw off the covers and lowered her long legs to the floor. She languidly stretched and rose from the bed in a sensual ballet that commanded Peter's attention despite his intention to leave. "Hello, you must be Peter." Rachel glided towards him and extended her hand.

Peter automatically took hold of the hand she offered. He found himself gazing into the darkest sapphire blue eyes he'd ever seen.

"I'm Rachel Caffrey."

"Caffrey?"

"Yes," she smiled. "Neal's wife."

That stopped Peter short. Did she really just say "Neal's wife"? Before Peter could respond, Neal stepped out of the bathroom. He was dressed and ready to go.

Seeing Rachel wearing only his pajama top and holding Peter's hand, Neal's already stretched temper flared. He addressed Rachel brusquely. "I have to go to work. Stay here. Don't touch anything. And get out of my pajamas."

"Yes, dear, as you say." Smiling provocatively, Rachel turned her back on the two men, unbuttoned the pajama top and let it slip to the floor just as she leisurely entered the bathroom naked.

Peter struggled valiantly to stifle his laughter. Neal glared daggers at him and led the way downstairs to Peter's car. On the ride to the Bureau, Neal sat in stony silence, his thoughts circling around motives, plots, schemes—trying to divine what Rachel's true game was.

Finally Peter couldn't stand it anymore. "Neal, you have to talk to me. I presume that this is the Rachel you thought was dead. She introduced herself as your wife. I thought you said that wedding was all for show."

Neal shook his head as if to clear it. "Apparently not."

"Could she be lying?"

"I doubt it. She wouldn't make up something that would be easy to disprove. But just in case, I have Mozzie checking into it." Neal sighed and put his head back. "My God, Peter, I'm married. In fact I've been married as long as you have."

"I suppose congratulations are not appropriate?" That comment earned Peter another dark look from his partner. "So why has the prodigal wife returned after a decade?"

"Well, she says she wants a place to stay for a while and a divorce."

"Well, isn't that a good thing? The divorce I mean."

"I know there's more to it. Peter, she's a con artist. She'll tell you just enough truth to sucker you in to believing all the lies. You can't trust anything she says."

Peter couldn't suppress his grin.

"It's not funny, Peter." Neal stared at his partner for a long minute, then lowered his head and chuckled ruefully. "All right, I admit, it's giving me a new perspective. But seriously, she is the consummate grifter. You think I'm good—compared to her, I'm a rank amateur."

At the office, the morning wore on in a haze of paperwork Neal couldn't remember a word of.

Peter called a briefing in the conference room. He was going over the particulars of a new case. He asked for Neal's opinion three times, but Neal was mired in his own thoughts. "Peter, I'm sorry. What did you ask?"

"Neal, come with me." Peter led the way back to his office. He rifled through a business card file from his desk and handed a card to Neal. "This is an old friend of mine. He's a divorce lawyer. Call him. Tell him I sent you. He'll get you in to see him today. Find out what you need to be doing."

"But Peter, what about the case?"

"You're not going to be any good to anyone until you get this Rachel thing sorted out. So take the day. Talk to the lawyer. Get a handle on this. Go. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Peter, thank you. And I'll be better tomorrow. I promise."

"Just go."

Neal called Peter's friend and, as promised, was given an appointment after lunch. The lawyer told Neal to find out the name of the attorneys representing Rachel so that he could contact them directly. Neal reluctantly headed home to face her.

When he entered his apartment, he could hear feminine laughter. He walked out onto the terrace and found Rachel and June apparently enjoying girl talk over the remains of a cozy luncheon. Neal felt the warmth of a flush rising from his neck. Anger and a rush of protectiveness flooded him. He did not want Rachel anywhere near June. But he forced himself to stay calm and pasted a pleasant expression on his face.

"Hello, ladies."

Rachel looked up at him with a knowing smile and said nothing.

June swung around at the sound of his voice. "Why, Neal, I didn't expect you back from work. If I'd known, I would have made lunch for you as well. Let me go get you something. Rachel and I have finished already and were just passing the time."

"That's okay, June. Thank you, but I'm not hungry." He sat down at the table. "So what have you two been talking about?"

"Rachel was telling me the story of your relationship. How sad for you both to find out you weren't truly suited to each other only after the wedding."

Rachel elaborated. "Yes, Neal, I explained to June how we agreed it had been a mistake, but we never got around to correcting it until now."

Neal stared at Rachel's sweetly innocent smile and wanted to throttle her. He took a moment's perverse pleasure in noting that the bright sunlight revealed the effects of age on her face. Rachel was five years older than Neal and, although her beauty was still undeniable, she was no longer a young woman.

June finally noticed that the pleasant smile fixed on Neal's face did not match the ice in his eyes. She decided that a strategic exit was in order. "Well, Rachel, it was lovely chatting with you. I'm sure we'll see each other again."

"Thank you, June, I enjoyed it as well. And I really appreciate your bringing me lunch." Rachel's smile was warm as she accompanied June back inside the apartment.

Neal walked June to the door and closed it behind her. He swung around, his anger evident. "You stay away from her! I don't want you anywhere near my friends."

Rachel smiled and made a conciliatory gesture with her hands. "Calm down, Neal. Your landlady was just curious as to who had moved into her house. Honestly, I think she's a lovely person. And I spun her an equally lovely tale about too young love, whirlwind romances and repenting in leisure. She was satisfied."

Rachel walked over to her bag sitting on the kitchen table. "I assume by now that you have contacted an attorney." Neal followed her in from the terrace. She pulled out a sheaf of papers and handed it to Neal. "This will make his or her job easier. It's all the paperwork my attorney has prepared."

Neal glanced through the papers and shook his head. Rachel had always had an uncanny ability to think two steps ahead of everyone else. It was the reason her cons were so successful. Setting the papers down, he ran his fingers through his hair and turned to face her. "What do you really want here, Rachel?"

"I told you, I want a divorce."

"Which you could have gotten through the mail-obviously." Neal gestured towards the paperwork.

"True. But as I also told you, I need a place to stay. Actually, a place I can be safe." She walked over to the terrace door and looked out over the city for a long moment. Sighing, she turned back to Neal and said quietly, "Janik wants to kill me. I need protection."

"Call the cops."

Rachel chuckled. "Don't be absurd. I need to disappear. And I need Janik to be put away where he can't reach me."

"And for that, you need the resources of the FBI and the U.S. Marshals. You don't need me for that—you could have gone to them on your own."

"Yes, I could have. But things will go more quickly and smoothly with your particular friends paving the way."

"No, Rachel. I don't want you in this part of my life. I don't want you in my life at all."

"I don't think your FBI contacts would agree. I'm offering ironclad evidence enough to put Janik away for life. I think they'll jump at the chance." Neal's stiff, unyielding posture affirmed how adamantly opposed he was to helping her. "Neal, be reasonable. It only makes sense for me to go through your FBI friends."

Neal reluctantly admitted to himself that whatever he did or didn't do, she was right about the FBI's interest in taking down Janik. They would willingly make a deal with her in exchange for a bigger prize. He knew he was only delaying the inevitable. "Fine. I'll talk to Peter about it. I'm going out."

He grabbed his hat and the divorce paperwork and headed towards the door. A small prick to his conscience stopped him in the open doorway. "If Janik is really looking for you, don't leave here. There are take-out menus in the drawer next to the sink. Order dinner in. And keep the door locked. I'll be back later." With that he walked through the door and went on his way to the lawyer's office.

A satisfied smile curled Rachel's lips. She murmured, "Coming along nicely. Very nicely, indeed." She changed clothes, choosing black slacks and a simple, unmemorable gray blouse. She picked up her bag, left the apartment and headed to the park in search of the next piece she needed.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

After the visit with the lawyer, Neal felt a little less vulnerable, a little more in control. Peter's friend agreed to coordinate everything with Rachel's attorney. He told him that without the issues of division of assets, child custody or alimony, the divorce was really a matter of filing the right paperwork. He promised Neal to call in a few favors and get it pushed through quickly.

Able now to visualize the end of his sham marriage, Neal decided to relent and try to be kinder to Rachel. After all, Neal knew first hand what it felt like to have a man as powerful as Janik as your enemy. If Janik really was after her, she must be terrified.

On his way home, he met Mozzie at one of his safe houses to see what he had found out so far. Moz was able to confirm what he already knew—the minister was genuine, the paperwork was correctly filed, the marriage was legal.

"While I was digging, I looked into your better half's activities for the past few years." Ignoring the threatening look Neal shot at him, he continued. "Apparently, she had a quasi legitimate job in Janik's empire. In fact, she seems to have worked her way up to being, at least unofficially, his second in command."

"So it's likely she was hip deep in his illegal arms trades."

"Hmm, undoubtedly. But she is very smart about leaving paper trails. What I've been able to find isn't well documented. There was one interesting coincidence though. She's spent a lot of time in several cities. And in each of those cities there seems to have been a jewel heist around the same time she was there, mostly diamonds. But that's all it is so far, an interesting coincidence."

"Good. Keep digging. The more I know about her, the better I can protect myself, and Peter." Neal's lips were taut, and he had a determined look on his face.

Mozzie shook his head. "You're casting yourself in the role of the suit's Saint George? Be careful, from what I've found so far, Rachel is one bad ass dragon."

Neal stayed with Moz for the rest of the afternoon. They played chess and speculated on what Rachel could possibly be after. Neither one of them believed she was being truthful. Neal returned home as the sun was setting. He intended to find out more details of what Rachel was offering the FBI so that he could prepare Peter.

When he arrived home, he found Rachel garbed in an elegant deep blue dress and matching heels. She was preparing to leave the apartment. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked with some exasperation.

"Neal, I've been cooped up here for two days. I need to get out. I'm going to dinner. I read about a restaurant not far from here that I want to try. You're welcome to join me if you like, but I am going."

"That's crazy, Rachel. You're putting your life at risk because you have cabin fever?"

"No one knows I'm here. I took very elaborate precautions to hide my trail. I'll be fine. You don't have to worry about me." With that, Rachel sailed out the door.

In spite of his distrust and his anger, Neal couldn't in good conscience leave her unprotected. And he had to admit, there was a lingering whisper of the old attraction that had so enchanted him before. He attributed it to a feeling of responsibility for the woman who was legally his wife. So he took off after her, catching up to her on the corner as she hailed a cab.

"Rachel, I'm coming with you. Where is it you want to go, because it has to be within the two mile radius on my anklet."

"Oh, it's within your range. Just within it, but you'll be fine." She gave the name of the restaurant to the cab driver. The ride there was taken up with Rachel's casual questions about the tracker. How it worked, what happened when he stepped out of range, why hadn't he picked it yet.

"Why do you want to know so much about it?"

"You brought up the subject, Neal. I'm just curious."

Conversation flagged until they were seated in the restaurant. Then Rachel put out an apparently sincere effort to charm Neal once again. She offered him regret for his time in prison, appreciation for his artistic accomplishments, and sympathy for the loss of Kate. She was again the woman he had fallen so hard for.

He knew it was all a con, but when the con was done this well, you had to sit back and enjoy it. Neal could sense the attraction again, made more piquant by the danger that surrounded her. He had to fight to keep himself from falling under her spell again. She was that good.

After dinner Rachel suggested that they walk for a bit. They started down the street. The farther away from the restaurant they got, the more deserted the area was. Neal heard whispered voices behind them. He turned to look but saw no one. Senses alert, he put a hand on Rachel's back to direct her to cross to the other side of the street. Before they took another step, they were suddenly confronted by a group of three young men. They circled Neal and Rachel making suggestive remarks and taunts. Rachel shrank close to Neal, clutching his arm.

"I don't know what you're after, but I work for the FBI. You are looking at a federal prison sentence. So leave us alone."

"Ooohh, the FBI. Now isn't that special? Well, friend, you're in luck. We don't want you. We're here for your lady." The leader chose that moment to flick open a switch blade and bring it close to Neal's face.

With Neal's attention distracted by the knife, one of the other men grabbed Neal and twisted his arm behind his back, while the third one seized Rachel, pinning her arms to her sides. They dragged the unlucky couple into the alley away from the streetlights. The one holding Neal reached into Neal's pocket and removed his cell phone. He dropped it and smashed it with his boot.

Neal struggled against his captor as the leader approached Rachel. Her pupils were dilated, her breath ragged as she twisted trying to free herself from the muscled arms that held her. The leader brought the knife up to Rachel's throat. A rough moan escaped her lips as he touched the blade to her skin.

The sound gave Neal strength. He went limp in the arms of his captor, and surprise led the man to drop Neal. He kicked out and hit the thug in the knee. The man cried out in pain and hobbled backwards. Neal was up and running and fairly flew at the leader holding the knife. He knocked him into the wall, and the knife flew out of the man's hand.

Rachel took advantage of the opportunity and brought her high heel down hard on the third man's instep. He howled and turned her around and slapped her hard across the face. She staggered from the force of the blow and fell to the ground. Finding herself face to face with the knife the leader had dropped, she grabbed it, jumped up and pushed it into Neal's hand. The leader backed off at seeing his opponent now armed. Rachel saw the chance to escape and took hold of Neal's arm and pulled him away. They ran.

They could hear the three men pursuing them. The leader was swearing, and issuing orders for his companions to split up and search the alleys. Rachel dragged Neal through an alley and behind a warehouse. She had a veteran thief's unerring feel for escape routes and picked her way efficiently through the debris-strewn area. They had reached the end of the property, and safety seemed to be literally just around the corner when a loud electronic squeal sounded. Rachel whipped around to face Neal as he stared down at his ankle where the tracker's light was blinking red, and the alarm was sounding their death knell.

"Cut it! It's going to lead them right to us!" she hissed.

Neal still clutched the knife Rachel had given him. He hesitated just a moment. Just time enough for a flash of regret at causing Peter to doubt him yet again. But he had no choice. Using the knife, he slit the tracker open and removed it from his ankle.

Rachel grabbed a chunk of concrete and smashed it down on the tracker, silencing the alarm forever. She took Neal's hand and dragged him through a hole in a chain link fence, then down another alley and far away from the ruined tracker. She finally pulled him with her into a darkened corner that offered good concealment. There they stayed catching their breath and waiting in silence.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Long minutes passed, and they heard the sounds of pursuit headed in the opposite direction. Finally trusting that they had successfully eluded their attackers, they cautiously made their way back to the street. "We have to get to a phone. I have to let Peter know where I am and why I cut the anklet."

Rachel put a hand on Neal's arm. "Wait, Neal. Before you call your handler, we need to talk."

"Rachel, I have to call in. The U. are probably already where we left the anklet. They'll think I'm running."

"I understand that, but this has given us an opportunity. There's something you need to know. Neal, you saved my life back there, and I'm grateful. So I have to tell you that you could still be charged with murder."

At that, Neal stopped walking and waited for her to continue, a feeling of dread building in him.

"Janik wanted to make sure that you would never interfere with his plans. He held something to use against you to keep you in line. He told me if I ever left him, he would produce it and send you to prison for life."

"What could he have on me? I didn't commit murder."

"Janik makes his own reality. He has the statue you used to hit the guard. It has your fingerprints on it and the guard's blood."

"But the guard wasn't dead. He came after me."

"He wasn't dead then. But Janik was very displeased that he let you escape. He killed him, Neal. And somehow he got your blood and put it on the statue as well so your DNA would be linked to the murder. I've searched for years to find his special place he stashes his most precious possessions. I'm finally sure I know where it is, right here in New York. Janik has never trusted banks. But he has a storage box in a humidor room of a private, gentlemen-only cigar club. I'm certain the statue is in there."

Neal was remembering his last encounter with Janik. The blade at his throat, the shallow cut—it wasn't just for Janik's entertainment. It was done to get Neal's blood to incriminate him.

"Neal, once I strike a deal with the FBI, they will seize Janik's assets. They'll discover the record of the humidor storage box just as I did. They'll find the statue, and you'll be charged. There is no statute of limitations on murder. Your only chance is to retrieve the statue and destroy it. We have to take advantage of this opportunity tonight while you're off your leash."

Neal knew that much of what Rachel had said was true. Assets would be seized. The bloody statue would be DNA tested and fingerprinted. With evidence like that, Peter would have no choice but to arrest him on suspicion of murder. Even if he was eventually cleared, and that was doubtful, he would be put back in prison immediately without hope of bail. And who knew what other evidence or eyewitnesses Janik would produce to back up his story. As much as he didn't trust Rachel, she was offering a lifeline to him. Against his better judgment, he decided he no choice but to take it.

"Alright, I'm in. But how am I going to get access to a private club? I can't just drop in off the street, and I don't have time to orchestrate a break in."

"No need. I have Janik's membership card."

"Won't they recognize that I'm not Janik?"

"Unlikely. Janik hasn't been in New York for years. Just go in and ask to be admitted to the humidor room. Once there you'll have to pick the lock to his box. Do you have any tools on you?"

Neal nodded his assent. He had taken to carrying a small pick concealed in his cuff. Although Peter might not admit it, he relied on Neal's criminal skills when the straight and narrow got a little too narrow, so Neal liked to be prepared.

"One problem, though. I don't know the box number. You're going to have to find that out yourself."

By this time they had walked back to a more populated street and Neal was able to hail a cab.

On the ride to the club, Rachel produced a comb for Neal to smooth his hair. She straightened his tie and brushed some dirt off his shoulders. "Very presentable," she smiled sweetly. "You'll fit right in." She handed him Janik's membership card. Suddenly the sweetness disappeared, and a hard glint came into those sapphire eyes. "And, Neal, anything else you find in the box, it's mine. It's my price for clearing you of murder charges. Understood?"

"Understood." Neal met her gaze and saw only cold calculation. She had always maintained an unwavering focus on whatever prize she sought, without regard for consequences. Apparently she hadn't changed. But he had. And he had Peter's friendship and refusal to give up on Neal to thank for it. He fervently hoped that this night's events would not damage the trust between them.

Neal took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders and assumed the mien of a wealthy, imperious man of entitlement. He exited the cab and strolled up the walkway to the club entrance. Nodding curtly to the doorman, he went in. Immediately, a very large, very serious man clad in an exquisite designer suit approached him. "Good evening, Sir. Your membership card, please." The man held out his hand.

Neal handed over the card with an air of total insouciance he was far from feeling. He calmly scanned the club as the guard examined the identification. After a delay long enough that Neal was calculating how many seconds he would need to cut and run, the guard finally handed the card back to him. "Welcome, Mr. Janik. You might want to stop at the office and have your card updated. It's quite out of date."

"Yes, thank you. I've been abroad for several years. I'll tend to it."

"Have a good evening, Sir."

Neal casually moved through the rooms mentally cataloguing the layout, the potential exits, the guests. He nodded affably to the other men playing cards or reading newspapers, but kept his distance. It wouldn't pay to be remembered. He located the humidor room and noted that a second impeccably dressed man guarded it. A leather-bound registry rested on a small table next to the door. He approached the guard. "I'd like to access my box, please."

"Of course, Sir. Your ID please?"

Neal handed over the card again. The guard opened the registry and scanned through the pages looking for the name Janik. Neal was able to read upside down and located the name—and the box number—before the guard did. "It's box 181" he supplied helpfully.

"Yes, Sir, I see. Please go on in." The guard opened the door for Neal and closed it after him. No one else was in the room, so Neal immediately pulled out his lock pick and went to work on box 181. He opened it in record time. He reached in and pulled out a cigar box. It was empty. Behind the cigar box lay the statue, now wrapped in clear plastic and sealed with tape. Rachel had not been lying about it. Neal's hand shook as he brought it out. Through the plastic, he could see the rusty brown of dried blood. He was holding his ticket to life in prison. He tucked it under his jacket and bent down to check if there was anything else at the back of the box. The only other item was a white velvet pouch closed with a silk drawstring. He picked it up and emptied the contents into his hand. His eyes widened, and a small smile played on his lips.

Outside, Rachel was waiting in the back of the cab. She stared intently at the door of the club, never moving, barely breathing. The cab driver looked at her in the mirror and shuddered. From the expression on his face, it was clear that he found her to be beautiful for sure, but chilling. Twenty minutes after Neal went into the club, he returned. He quickly got in the cab and ordered the driver to take them to the nearest pay phone.

Rachel was tense and demanded to know what he'd found. "Show me!" she whispered.

"Just this." He handed her the white velvet pouch.

She opened it and dumped the contents into her hand. Nothing but a large silver key. Rachel's frustration and disappointment were tangible.

The cab driver took them to a gas station. Neal called Mozzie and told him to meet them at the coffee shop. When they arrived, Rachel accompanied Neal inside. Despite Mozzie's obvious curiosity about Rachel, Neal chose not to make introductions. He led Mozzie over to a quiet corner and handed him the statue. "This needs to disappear. Permanently. Can you take care of it for me?"

"Consider it done. And I assume you will tell me what's going on eventually? The suit's left me three messages asking where you are."

"Yeah, Moz, of course I will. And thanks." Neal placed his hand on Mozzie's shoulder.

At the same moment, Mozzie sensed more than felt the air brush his jacket pocket. He looked at Neal and saw an infinitesimal shake of his head. Correctly interpreting, Moz remained silent

"But right now I need to use your phone." Neal took the cell phone Mozzie hastened to offer and dialed Peter's number.

Peter answered on the first ring and demanded, "Mozzie, tell me where Neal is."

"Peter, it's me." Neal heard the sigh of relief Peter couldn't suppress. "I was with Rachel, and we were attacked. I had to cut the tracker to cover our escape."

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, we're fine. And Rachel wants to make a deal for evidence against Janik. What do you want me do?"

"Janik? Really? Okay, bring her to the office. I want to talk to her before I involve Hughes and the District Attorney."

"We're on our way. Oh, and Peter, can you call off the marshals? I don't want to get shot while not escaping."

"I'll take care of it. Just get here." Peter hung up.

Neal gave the phone back to Mozzie and escorted Rachel back to the cab for the ride to the FBI building.

Mozzie left also, on his mission to dispose of the statue and to investigate the curious bulge that had mysteriously appeared in his jacket pocket.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Neal brought Rachel to Peter's office and offered a brief summary of the attack and their escape. Then he left it up to Peter to take over the meeting.

Peter had studied Rachel while Neal was talking. So far she had remained quiet with her arms wrapped protectively around her. "So, Rachel, are you alright? If you'd like to see a doctor, I will arrange it."

"Thank you, Peter, but I'll be fine. I was more frightened than injured."

Peter had to admit that the confident, self-controlled woman he had met in Neal's apartment was nowhere to be seen. Rachel was tense and shaky. She kept looking around nervously. Concerned that she needed to go home and rest, he decided to forego a lengthy interview and get to the point. "So I understand that you are willing to give evidence against Rudolph Janik."

"Yes, Peter. I worked for him for the last ten years. He is a powerful and possessive man. And now that I've dared leave him, he wants me dead."

"Do you think tonight's attack was his first attempt?"

"No, it wasn't. If Janik knew where I was, I'd be dead. Neal would be as well. Janik doesn't send amateurs, and he doesn't leave witnesses." She looked apologetically at Neal and placed her hand tentatively on his arm. He didn't move away from her touch, and she smiled gratefully.

"I need to know more about what kind of evidence you're offering so that I can discuss it with the District Attorney. And I want to know what you're asking in return."

"Of course." Rachel spent the next few minutes summarizing Janik's crimes that she could testify to. She claimed to have computer back up copies of his private accounting records detailing his clients, the money, and the destinations of all his illegal arms sales. She also was offering details on at least one murder. In exchange she wanted immunity for her participation in any of Janik's business activities and a new identity through the witness protection program.

Peter was writing as she spoke. When she was done, Peter looked back at his notes in amazement. If she could really provide the evidence she promised, it would bring down Janik's entire empire. "Thank you, Rachel. I won't keep you any longer. You look like you could use some rest. I'll speak to my boss and the District Attorney. One of us will get back to you tomorrow."

"Thank you, Peter. For everything. I'm so glad I can count on you." Rachel's voice quivered slightly, and her eyes were bright.

Peter turned to Neal. "Stay with her till I call you tomorrow. I'm going to put an agent outside June's house just to be safe." Smiling at Rachel, Peter assured her, "We won't let anything happen to you."

Rachel nodded her gratitude and stood to leave. As they exited Peter's office, an unsmiling U.S. marshal was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. In his hand he held a replacement anklet which he waved at Neal.

Neal sighed but made no comment as the new tracker was locked around his ankle. He took Rachel home while Peter started making his phone calls.

As expected, the District Attorney jumped at the chance to convict Janik. He wanted a meeting with Rachel first thing in the morning. Neal accompanied her to the office and led her to the conference room where Peter, Hughes, the District Attorney and a U.S. Marshal waited. They didn't invite Neal to stay.

The meeting, which was to be run by the D.A., was from the outset run entirely by Rachel. After the introductions were made, she produced a sizable document drawn up by her attorney. It detailed all the crimes she would confess to, the terms of her immunity for that confession, what evidence and what testimony she would provide against Janik, and the requirements of her participation in the witness protection program. It was complete, binding and unbreakable. As far as she was concerned, the meeting was over.

The District Attorney tried desperately to regain control of the situation and failed miserably. He tried to intimidate Rachel. She remained patient, but adamant that she would provide only the information specified in her prepared papers. She countered every argument, corrected the D.A.'s questionable interpretation of the law and remained unassailable.

Peter was amazed at the varying personas Rachel had at her fingertips and at how effortlessly she glided from one to the next. He had seen the temptress, the scared victim and now the precision legal mind. Neal was right. She was a consummate con artist more skilled than any he had ever encountered. Despite himself, he was deeply impressed.

Peter left the conference room after the District Attorney finally admitted defeat. The U.S. marshal accompanied Rachel out of building to brief her on the procedures for witness protection. Peter called Neal into his office to bring him up to date on the deal they had struck with Rachel.

Neal was dismayed. "Peter you can't agree to her terms. She is a criminal."

Peter grinned.

Neal rolled his eyes. "Okay, I know you think it's the same situation as it was with me, but you're wrong."

"I get it, Neal. You can be trusted. She can't."

Neal felt a curiously visceral shimmer of pleasure at that. He filed it away to be considered later. Right now, he had to try to convince Peter. "But Peter…"

"It isn't my call Neal. Although I'll probably take some heat if this doesn't pan out. But for better or worse…" Peter realized what he had just said and then couldn't resist continuing, a smug look on his face, "…for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, Rachel is getting what she wants."

Neal valiantly forbore telling Peter what he thought about his probable ancestry.

Two days later, Peter brought the immunity agreement to Neal's apartment for Rachel to sign. She meticulously read all the pages and finally signed them. Handing them to Peter, she smiled disarmingly, "There is one other thing, Peter."

Neal sighed. They weren't done yet. He sat back and watched, happy that this time he wasn't the target of this particular con.

"One of the crimes I confessed to was the theft of a diamond necklace from a museum in California. A friend of mine, Derek Anders, was framed for the theft. I want him released and brought here and provided with a new identity. He will be accompanying me when I go into hiding before the trial. In fact, he will be willing to testify against Janik as well." She handed Peter more paperwork with all the details of the man she wanted released.

Peter had seen the way Rachel's eyes softened when she spoke of the 'friend' in prison. "Rachel, the U.S. Marshals and the FBI are not in the matchmaking business. We have a deal in place. You can't change it now."

"I have every intention of honoring our deal as agreed to, Peter. I merely want another deal as well. And this is not for me—it's for an innocent man who was jailed due to Janik's jealous desire for revenge. Please, Peter, this is a wrong that you can put right. Isn't that what you do?" Her dark blue eyes shone with a pleading sincerity.

Peter sighed knowing he wasn't going to be able to ignore this. "And what do I get in exchange?"

"The necklace."

"You'll have to do better than that."

"Alright. Janik's location." Rachel smiled sweetly at Peter.

Peter knew that the marshals had spent the last two days searching for any trace of Janik and had come up empty. He had gone to ground nearly a year ago. His business had continued in full force, but the man in charge had kept to the shadows. The marshals were stumped. They didn't know which direction to turn. Releasing a supposedly innocent man and providing him with a new identity sounded like more than a fair trade for Janik.

"You know where he is?"

"I do. And I give you my word to reveal his location once Derek is free."

I'll present your proposal, and I'll let you know."

"Thank you, Peter. I know you'll do what's right."

Peter took the papers and left.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Three more fruitless days of searching for clues to Janik's whereabouts passed before the inevitable conclusion was reached. They had to agree to Rachel's second deal. Papers were drawn up and signed. Derek Anders was taken out of prison and brought to New York. Neal and Rachel awaited his arrival at Neal's apartment.

Rachel maintained the composure that had keep her going through hundreds of cons. Outwardly she was the picture of calm, casually awaiting the arrival of a friend. But Neal detected the signs of her agitation. He could read the fine lines of strain around her eyes, the almost imperceptible narrowing of her lips and the perfectly still hands-not a sign of serenity, but rather sheer force of will.

Finally the sounds of several people climbing the stairs could be heard. Neal opened the door, and Peter entered first. He was followed by a U. S. Marshal and a truly angelic looking young man. The elegant suit that Derek Anders had worn to his trial hung loosely on him now—a side effect of prison rations. One that Neal could empathize with.

Derek scanned the room, his eager eyes finally lighting on Rachel. She rose and held out her arms. A smile spread across his face as he walked determinedly to her and hugged her close to him, his ethereally light blonde hair a sharp contrast to Rachel's dark tresses. He loosened his hold on her and leaned back to look into her face.

Rachel's eyes glowed. "I told you I would get you out of there.

"I had faith in you, my love." He pulled her to him and placed a hungry kiss on her lips.

Neal felt an unexpected surge of jealousy. And sadness. What if Kate had had such determination to move mountains to get him out of prison? Where would he be now? Certainly not leashed to the FBI by a tracking anklet. But also not tied to Peter by friendship.

Neal looked over at Peter and saw that he was watching the reunion with detachment. And something else. Pity, maybe. Neal looked more closely at Derek Anders and studied his face. And there he saw it-another side effect of prison. Hardness, self-preservation, calculation. Rachel, the cold as diamonds thief and con artist, was in love with a man who was using her. It cut too close to home for Neal to find any humor in it though. It reminded him too pointedly of his doubts about Kate.

The U.S. Marshal cleared his throat to get Rachel and Derek's attention. They reluctantly separated. The man addressed the couple. "We have to go now. We're putting you up in a hotel for the night. Derek, we'll take your initial testimony there this evening to present to the district attorney. A more detailed session with the D.A. will be held before you're transferred to your relocation."

Derek and the marshal picked up Rachel's bags, and the three of them left the apartment. Neal closed the door after them and leaned his forehead against it.

"You okay?" asked Peter.

"Relieved, actually." Neal said as he straightened.

Peter chuckled. "Does it strike you as odd that you're relieved your wife just left with another man?"

"Not in the least." Neal's smile faded as he thought of the implications. His wife. Looking at Peter, Neal couldn't help but think of Elizabeth. He couldn't prevent himself from making the obvious comparisons-and seeing just how pitiful his situation was. Peter had a loving, faithful wife who was the world to him. And Neal had con games and scams.

Sighing, he poured a glass of wine for himself. Workday or not, he felt he deserved it today. He motioned with the bottle to Peter who shook his head declining the offer. Neal dropped into a chair at the dining room table and put his head in his hands.

Peter joined him at the table and watched his friend with unease. This whole episode with Rachel had hit Neal hard while he was still raw from losing Kate. Although he really wasn't expecting to get an answer, he asked, "Neal, do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

Neal dragged his fingers through his hair. He looked up and, seeing the genuine concern on Peter's face, surprised himself by blurting out the truth. "Everything's wrong, Peter. Look at me. My so-called marriage-nothing but con games and lies. My whole life is make believe. I thought Kate and I…but I don't even know anymore if she…" Neal shook his head. "It's all smoke and mirrors. I have nothing real."

Peter took a moment to choose his words carefully. "You have friends. You have colleagues. You have me. I know this is not the life you wanted, but it's a worthwhile one. The work you do is real. You change people's lives for the better. That's not smoke and mirrors."

"It's not enough, Peter." Neal voice was wistful as he continued, "I'm never going to have what you and Elizabeth have."

Peter smiled. "You're a little bit young to be giving up hope. I was older than you are now when I met El. And you have a lot to offer, you know."

"Yeah, good looks and a two-mile radius," Neal said ruefully.

"Your looks don't hurt. But do you honestly think El married me for my good looks?"

Neal looked up with a cheeky grin on his face.

Peter quickly added, "No. Don't answer that-I will. She didn't. And any woman worth spending a lifetime with won't choose you for your looks. She'll choose you because you're loyal and intelligent and talented. And because you're a diehard romantic."

"Maybe I should hire you for to be my press agent."

"You could do worse. C'mon. It's still a work day, you know. Hughes awaits."

Neal nodded his agreement, and the two of them left for the office.

The next day Peter happily left the FBI offices to meet Elizabeth for lunch in Central Park. In his haste to not be late yet again he left his cell phone on his desk. Hughes came looking for him, his expression a curious combination of anger and resignation. When he saw Neal, he motioned to him to come up to his office.

"Yes, sir?" said Neal standing in the doorway of Hughes' office.

"Do you know where Peter is?"

"He's meeting Elizabeth for lunch in the park. Is there anything I can do?"

"Yes. He left his cell phone here, and I need him back here now. Go find him. Tell him lunchtime is over. I want the two of you in my office the second you get back."

"Is there a problem?"

"Go, Caffrey. Now."

"Yes, Sir." Neal made good his escape. This did not sound good. Hughes wanted to see both of them, so much so that he was dragging Peter away from his wife.

Neal tracked down Peter to a shady bench in the park. Despite Hughes's impatience, he took a minute just to watch Peter and Elizabeth. Neal buried the brief pang of envy he'd felt and adjusted his expression to a friendly smile. He approached to collect Peter.

His partner looked none too pleased to see him though. "What is it, Neal?"

"Hughes sent me to find you. You left your cell in the office. He wants to see both of us ASAP, and he is none too happy."

Peter sighed and turned to his wife. "El, I'm sorry, but…"

"Go, Peter. It's alright. I'll see you at home tonight."

Peter kissed her and strode off with Neal while asking for more details on what Hughes had said. As they walked past the fountain, Neal suddenly stopped short and stared at a man performing a vigorous version of Hamlet for a small crowd of onlookers. "Peter, that's one of the men who attacked Rachel and me." Shaking off Peter's restraining hand on his arm, Neal took off at a run straight at the actor. He grabbed the man and spun him around. "You and your friends attacked me. Who put you up to it?"

The young man was clearly frightened at being accosted but remained calm. "Hey, chill, okay?"

By this time Peter had caught up and shoved his badge in front of the man's face.

"Whoa, I guess you weren't kidding about being FBI. Look, I'm sorry my friend slapped your lady, but she wasn't supposed to hurt him. He's still limping from her ramming that high heel into his foot. That wasn't part of the deal."

Neal froze at the man's words.

Peter realized they were missing something. "What deal are you talking about?" he demanded.

"The one his lady set up." Here the man turned back to Neal. "She said you'd get off on it, that you like to play the hero rescuing the damsel in distress. She paid us a hundred bucks each. Look, man, I can give you back the money, at least some of it. I don't want any trouble with the FBI."

Neal let go of the man and stalked off, stiff with anger.

After assuring the young Hamlet he was in no trouble, Peter ran to catch up with Neal.

"It was a con, Peter. She needed me to cut the anklet. It was all a con."

"Why did she need you to be untrackable, Neal? What did she have you do?"

Neal took a deep breath. "No, Peter. There are some things it's better you stay ignorant of. Trust me when I tell you that what I did hurt no one. Except maybe Rachel. She didn't get exactly what she was hoping for from me." Despite Peter's insistent and increasingly irritated questioning, Neal refused to say anything more about it.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The two of them arrived at the FBI offices disgruntled and bad-tempered and went to face whatever additional unpleasantness Hughes had in store for them.

"Sit down, Peter. Caffrey." Hughes motioned them to the chairs in his office. "I received a call from the District Attorney this morning. And one from the U.S. Marshals. We have been royally conned. Apparently your wife…" he shot a look at Neal, who flushed slightly, "has disappeared. And so has her friend. The marshals set them up with their new identities. They went back 6 hours later with video equipment to take Derek Anders' testimony, and the two of them were long gone. All the identification the marshals provided was left behind. They must have their own new identities. So far they have found no trace."

"So, she never had any intentions of giving us Janik. It was all a con job to get her boyfriend out of prison." Peter's intense annoyance and frustration at having fallen for the trick radiated from him.

"Not entirely, Peter," Hughes continued. She also left a letter—addressed to you. The marshals faxed me this copy of it." He handed to Peter.

Peter skimmed it quickly and let his hand drop. "I'm sorry, Sir, that I involved the Bureau in this."

Neal's patience ran out. "Peter, what did she say?"

Peter offered Neal the letter. He took it and read.

_Dear Peter,_

_I promised to provide you Janik's location in exchange for your releasing Derek. I do try to keep my word whenever possible. You can find Janik at the city cemetery in Pensacola, Florida under the name of Raymond Abbott. He died last year of natural causes. A stroke. He lingered for 9 months giving me time to dig through records and shift some assets. Now that I'm not there to keep the business going, it will fold. The illegal arms sales will cease. You are getting what you wanted, just not quite the way you wanted it._

_Neither of us got everything we hoped for, but sometimes compromises must be made. Don't be angry—it was nothing personal._

_Sincerely,_

_Rachel_

"I'm sorry, Peter."

"It's not your fault, Neal. You gave me fair warning she'd feed us just enough truth to get us hooked. I should have listened to you."

"But…"

"That will do, gentlemen." Hughes interrupted. "I think we've spent enough time on this. But Peter, I expect better from you. Caffrey, any more wives, girlfriends, casual acquaintances or total strangers from your past—I don't want to meet them."

Neal nodded. "Understood, Sir."

Neal and Peter left Hughes's office quietly, both of them feeling foolish and dejected.

As they returned to Peter's office, Neal hesitantly asked, "Peter, did you feel this way each time I gave you the slip when you were chasing me?"

"Pretty much. Although I had a grudging respect for your cleverness." He sighed. "And if I'm going to be perfectly honest, I guess I have to admit that Rachel's scheme was masterful. We just got outplayed."

"She is incredibly good at what she does." Neal paused a moment, then haltingly continued, "Peter… I want you know…the years you were chasing me…I never intended for you to feel foolish or look bad to your boss…"

Peter smiled. "Forget it, Neal. I know it was-what did Rachel say?-nothing personal. C'mon, let's go find some live bad guys we can actually catch."

Neal returned the smile, grateful that Peter wasn't one to hold a grudge. The former conman didn't think he could be as forgiving.

A week later, Neal and Mozzie were seated at the table in Neal's apartment. The silence between them drew out uncomfortably. Neal fingered the diamond in front of him. He had studied it countless times since that night he'd slipped it out of its velvet pouch in the cigar club. It felt cold. Jewels were things of beauty, but they had no soul. Not like a painting that exposed a piece of the artist's essence, his divine inspiration. This was nothing more than a rock. Exquisitely beautiful, but empty and hard. Much like his wife.

Mozzie sat across from him watching. Finally he asked, "Have you decided what you're going to do with it? Cause that's a couple million dollars you're playing with."

Neal sighed and looked up. "I don't know, Moz. A year ago, there wouldn't have been any question about it. Now…"

"The suit has warped your sense of values."

"Maybe. I didn't choose this life, but I am living it. And it's changing me, I think."

Mozzie quoted, "When you fall in a river, you're no longer a fisherman; you're a swimmer."

Neal laughed and shrugged his shoulders. He held the stone up and watched the play of light skitter across the facets. "It reminds me of Rachel. You know, maybe I should give it to her—it's her true heart's desire, after all."

"Are you even considering that?" Mozzie said in shock at the thought.

"Maybe…" Neal grinned. "But I think I'll wait ten years before I tell her I have it."

Mozzie chuckled in relief.

A knock sounded at the door, and a voice called, "Neal, it's Peter."

Neal reflexively grabbed the diamond and slipped it into his pocket. He opened the door and waved Peter into the apartment. Peter's shoulders were still slightly stooped. They had been that way since the weight of Hughes's disapproval had landed on them after Rachel's disappearance.

"This came for you by courier." Peter held out a large envelope addressed to Neal Caffrey, care of the FBI Manhattan office. It was unopened.

Neal took the envelope with a questioning look at Peter. He got nothing but a shrug in response.

Neal tore open the envelope and pulled out a sheaf of papers. As he scanned over them, his smile grew. He looked up beaming. "I'm officially divorced."

"Well, that calls for champagne." Mozzie bustled around the kitchen collecting glasses and a chilled bottle from the fridge. He popped the cork and poured a generous amount into the three glasses. After handing the wine to Neal and Peter, he raised his glass and intoned, "Divorce is a declaration of independence with only two signers. Here's to independence day."

"So you're a free man." Peter said as he raised his glass.

"Hardly." Neal said bitterly, gesturing to his anklet.

Peter put his hand on Neal's shoulder and looked him in the eyes. "One thing at a time, Neal. It will come."

The compassion in those brown eyes flooded Neal with warmth. On impulse, he pulled the diamond from his pocket and handed it to Peter. "Here's an amendment to that declaration of independence. It should go a long way to getting you back into Hughes's good graces."

Peter stared in shock and appreciation at the jewel in his hand. Neal would never cease to amaze him. "Neal, is this what I think it is?"

Neal nodded. "The Cathcart."

"You stole this?"

"No, Janik stole it. I retrieved it. And now I'm turning it in to you."

"How on Earth did Rachel let you keep this from her?"

"She wasn't certain it was there. So I substituted a key. It should keep her searching for a long time.

"A key to what?"

"Mozzie's storage unit. Lots of interesting stuff, but I doubt there are any diamonds in it though."

Peter smiled and shook his head. Looking down at the sparkling fortune his consultant had just freely relinquished, he said quietly, "I am so proud of you, Neal."

Peter drained his glass of champagne, pocketed the diamond and left, still smiling.

Neal moved over to stand in the doorway to the terrace. He looked over the skyline without really seeing it. Instead he was trying to put a name to the feeling Peter's words had caused to bloom in him.

Mozzie walked over and stood next to him. He quoted, "There are two ways of being rich. One is to have all you want, and the other is to be satisfied with what you have."

"Well, I don't feel rich yet, but maybe I'm heading in the right direction."

"Maybe you are, my friend. Maybe you are after all."

FIN


End file.
